The Wishing Well
by UnderminetheAuthority
Summary: They fought for what they believed in. They fought for fun. They fought for love. They fought for a secret, without even knowing. When the champions find themselves trapped within the Institute, they realize that the League was far more sinister than they had ever imagined...[Full Summary INSIDE!] YURI AND CHARACTER DEATH! Rated T for now, M in the future! First Ch is a SUMMARY.
1. Introduction

**The Wishing Well**

**_Lost People_**

**_Old of mind, young of _**

**_Heart_**

**_Falling where no angel dared to _**

**_Fall_**

**_But broken, endlessly, as dreams never dreamed_**

**_Came alive, and tales never told _**

**_Began to haunt, and haunt, and haunt, and_**

**_Haunt _**

**_Until the truth had driven away the sanity_**

**_One of all eyes, but no _**

**_Color, whispered those tales. Salvaged the truth. Dreamed the_**

**_Dreams_**

**_Then gave it all back_**

**_But those who lost it never got it again, and instead surrendered_**

**_Each hue drained by the mist of the all seeing one_**

**_Where the truth never_**

**_Returned._**

**SUMMARY**

They fought for what they believed in. They fought for fun. They fought for love. They fought for a secret, without even knowing. When the champions find themselves trapped within the Institute, they realize that the League was far more sinister than they had ever imagined. As champions struggle to keep their sanity, lives and relationships, they find that the truth had been among them all along.

Luxanna fought for justice. For her country. For her people. She thought that was all there was to it—follow in her brothers footsteps, give herself a name other than just one of Demacia's, and be its guiding light. And, most importantly, redeem herself in the eyes of her family.

Jinx fought for pleasure. For anarchy. For madness. With her sanity long neglected, left in pieces from a past she has long tossed aside, she pursues the very thing which embodies her—disorder, and all things flashy. Determined to show Piltover's finest the future she has envisioned for them, she let loose her maniacal flare to create her own version of pure, unadulterated art.

Katarina fought for Noxus. For pride. For blood. Born in a family of high expectations and excessive violence, she made it her business to show the world pain and power. Spiting any form of weakness, she looks down upon the just and thin-willed, and lives to walk only among the strong.

They thought they knew what they wanted. They thought they knew what they liked. They thought they knew what was right. Yet, as their very desires are within reach, they find the very forces of their goals twisting around to toy with what they truly need, deep within the depths of the hearts they never truly knew.

**Main Cast**

Lux

Jinx

Katarina

Cassiopeia

Quinn

Vi

Riven

Pairings yet to be revealed—YURI and CHARACTER DEATH beware!

* * *

This is a story I will be starting soon, please review! Do you like the concept, what pairings do you suggest? If there are characters you want to be included, don't hesitate to ask as I always take suggestions. It will a yuri fic with primarily the first three characters. Also, be warned-character death galore! Heavy action, mystery, and romance! Feel free to criticize my work as I am always striving to improve my writing. Also, any poetry posted within this fic is mine. Indeed. Poetry exists people. It's not lyrics I'm stealing from somewhere :o


	2. Lighting the Fuse, Part 1

**Lighting the Fuse: Part One**

Close to the ground…crouch down…slink through the bushes, and don't be seen. She was no Nidalee but was also no Cho'gath, priding herself in the light footedness brought on by years over years of sneaking past the fortress guards. The loose gravel under her boots was so familiar, even comfortable, that she was confident that even in an hour's time no one would find her. Apparently this was not the case for the opponent, as the smooth Rift silence was shattered by the tearing rush of bark against bark. From the woods the lumbering Maokai headed for the lane, invigorated by the mystical runes of a just-slain guardian and looking for more. Its residue remained on the great tree's mossy exterior, rubble shaking off him with each passing step.

Deep breath.

Focus.

Wait for the perfect time.

…Who was she kidding?

"Demacia!" She exclaimed, the national war cry piercing the air. The crackle of energy partnered with the growing flair of light painted her blonde hair a blinding silver, just before every ounce of her energy shot forth. Amidst the strike, a purple-black blur burst from the neighboring bush, a smudge against the brilliance of the Demacian girl's signature move.

She collapsed, taking half a second to gulp in all the air expended from that cry, before propelling her baton towards the figure. The figure was in fact the very Wings of Demacia, complete with her vicious avian companion. They were fierce. And fast. And dedicated. One bolt fired signified that someone would die, and at the moment, Luxanna Crownguard was convinced it would be Maokai.

Now glistening in the protective film of the light mage's energy, Quinn kicked off her foe, who roared in confusion. His splintered trunk of an arm reached out to swipe her, only to be misdirected by the ranger's single most trusted companion. Valor's claws left searing marks on his skin, but left no time for appraisal as Quinn landed one last bolt on the charred abdomen left by Lux's strike.

And so he fell. Lux swore the ground cracked under his weight, watching as her fellow soldier winced between pants. The shield, sometime from the beginning to the end, had shattered.

It didn't matter now.

"Nice job!" Lux exclaimed, flashing a wide smile. "That was the last one. Mission accomplished?"

After a moment's hesitation, Quinn returned the glance. Not even a hint of a smile, however, came about her stature. Inwardly the mage cursed, having long ago decided she absolutely had to befriend her colleague. "Oh...you too…yeah," Quinn muttered.

"Come on, celebrate! Think of how the committee will love this—you've been doing great lately, and with the conflict and all, things are looking up for Demacia, I mean this is the second match in a row we've bested Noxus, even though there were some substitutes, but that's still a potential improvement for the upcoming colonies you know, and—"

Valor let out an indignant squawk. Lux laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of her head as the summoner's essence began to creep up their bodies.

"Sorry…You can just stop me when I ramble. It's my fatal flaw!" She joked.

At this, the ranger cracked a half-grin, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"No, it's fine. I don't mind."

And the essence consumed them. The summonings were always like this—the most raw form of the summoner's energy was always so powerful, and so mysterious that Lux felt helpless under its hand. Even when it simply came to transportation in and out of matches, the feeling of being unable to do anything as the world turns black terrified her. Perhaps it was the way everything went cold. Perhaps it was because most of her summoners irked her. Either way, it as a fear she would never reveal. Should Garen discover, she knew he would be disappointed at such a 'trivial and childish matter'.

Her stomach churned at the thought.

He was her idol. Strong, brave, the quintessence of a perfect Demacian. A true soldier, but also a true brother. His hard face would soften when they were simply family…his firm hand of justice would become a more gentle one, leading her to the path of greatness. Her light paled in comparison to the gleam of his might, which is what she feared most—that his would snuff hers and she would become nothing in the eyes of her people.

Quinn was more likely to become a great figure than she. Quinn had her own story. Quinn had her own background. Quinn had Valor.

But Lux…Lux was like a shadow of her brother, attempting to achieve the same glow by mimicking his movements, but being forever confined to the leftovers of the impact. That's how her family viewed her.

The institute's tall walls and post-match bustle eased into view. Her eyes were still adjusting to the brightness, so the image was fuzzy. However, Quinn was still beside her, only just sheathing her crossbow and calling back her partner. Lux recalled having put away her baton since the match was over out of habit. It seemed the other woman had no such tendency.

"Quinn! Care to walk to the meeting with me? We can grab a crepe on the way too. I don't know about you, but three hours past lunch is six hours too many."

Quinn peered slightly at Valor, whose feathers rustled, as if partaking in a silent conversation. Lux had no doubt they could communicate quite well, but the extent of it was lost on her. Maybe they were telepathic!

"I suppose," she replied coyly. Her lips parted like she wanted to say more, but she never did. Maybe that was also meant for Valor. She mentally shrugged.

The halls of the institute were, contrary common belief, littered with little shops of luxury and necessity. Rows among rows of food stands, clothing stores and supermarkets stretched through the walls of the structure, bustling with both summoners and champions alike. The entire place was illuminated with a cheerful mall like atmosphere, white screens lighting up the upper stretches of each wall to add to the fresh daytime feeling. At night they slowly bled to a warm orange hue, beckoning a more calming feeling. Lux preferred the day.

They approached one food stand and quickly purchased crepes—mixed fruit for Lux and honeyberry for Quinn. The former noticed that the moment Quinn touched it, Valor swooped down to engulf perfectly half of it in a flurry of blue and gold. Quinn smiled at Lux's comical expression, while Valor seemed to snicker.

"Well, you guys are coordinated in more ways than one I guess," the mage grinned upon recovery. Quinn only nodded.

They made their way past the central hall, sneaking past a group of summoners locked in heated debate. If there was one thing a champion had to know, it was not to ever, ever, ever get involved with one of those. Rather, not to get dragged into one. The Demacian's hall was right past them, stretching into the opposite end of that of Noxus. Every single faction hall stretched from the central one—Piltover, Zaun, Freljord, even Kalamanda had its own area, regardless of how many champions, if any, resided within. The hall of Demacia, however, had to be the most elaborately decorated. Panels of gold embossed with classic tales told in images graced the walls, chandeliers blessing the ceilings. Glass gilded floor tiles scored across the floor in linear patterns, changing temporarily at each door. At the end of the hall lay one grand door decked with the simple national flag, its undecorated cover a show of pride.

Lux slowly traced her fingers over the grand door, after making sure her uniform was clear of crepe-stains or smudges. Quinn had a tougher time getting crème off Valor's beak and claws, who did not want to be smothered with her handkerchief.

A bright blue light erupted from where her fingers had crossed, then winding up her arms to dominate her armor clad form. Moments later she was standing in the middle of the meeting room, her hair sparking from the energy. It was still by summoner's magic, but lasted hardly a fraction the length. Quinn materialized next to her, followed by Valor who delicately landed on his friend's shoulder. It seemed even the bird knew when to act diligent.

The two girls bowed, then silently took their seats—they were on opposite sides of the huge doughnut-like table, and so always felt like they were staring at eachother. Lux peered at Garen to her left, who patted her hand lightly but did not turn to look at her.

Two more people entered the room after that—political leaders who Lux had not the experience to know. One was the tactical general, the other a training operator, but their names were not announced upon entrance like their titles were. The moment they took their seats, a powerful voice boomed across the room.

"Meeting commence!" Prince Jarvan IV announced, removing his helmet. Anyone else in the room did too, including Quinn, whose short purple hair fell to frame her face.

All at once voices devoured the reticence. Arguments were thrown. Statements tossed. Suggestions pointed. Garen was a large part of them, leading the political argument, as was Lux who desperately tried to keep up.

"—There is no way such a thing is possible! We are on eggshells with Zaun—one wrong step, one word out of place, and we might as well be leading an army of corpses!" Garen ridiculed, leaning against the table towards an older man.

"You don't know that! I have seen the strife of battle and what warrants them. We need more allies! Freljord won't cut it, it didn't then, it won't now! Ionia is not partaking in this conflict either. Zaun is amongst our last hopes, don't you see?"

"I _see_ that trusting madmen is foolish!"

"And what of Zaun's last matches with Piltover? What of Zaun's last matches with Ionia? They are brimming with power, and brimming with even more arrogance! From that sprouts nothing but backstabbers!" Lux pressed, supporting her brother.

"Events of the past are irrelevant now! A new war means new possibilities—"

"_History_ defines the _future_," interjected Shauna Vayne, her strong voice shooting his down.

"But history is a pattern meant to be _broken_!" Argued Shyvana, arms crossed. "Zaun's untrustworthiness is true, but may that not be because they have never had proper allies?"

"Proper my ass!" Spat a fiery general, shaking his head. "Zaun thinks nothing of proper."

"Proper was not something seen in yesterday's match," Lux agreed, attempting to ignore two other arguments which flashed across the table. "Singed could not even show the slightest bit of teamwork with Karma! Even with a critical political decision on the line he chose to take his own personal preference over besting the opponent!"

"On a whim we, as allies, could be tossed aside and destroyed," Vayne nodded.

"Yet, I would rather take ze risk zen be overwhelmed by _Noxus_!" Fiora spat from Lux's right. "If we don't achieve Zaun'z favor, zen _Noxus_ _will_!"

She took a small pause to give everyone a heated glare. "All we have to do iz ensure zey will not betray us by enforcing our own power, and simply _crush_ zem if zey do."

For a second no one spoke, before the room exploded into noise once more. These were like those summoner's debates—she hated them—but they were necessary. Once it was over, which was about a thousand cross-table yells later, Jarvan decided that another meeting would be held later in the week to secure a final decision, then it came to a close. Instantly all the spiteful words disappeared into kind ones. Suddenly civilized, except for Fiora who left with the same curt demeanor. Quinn was gone almost as fast. Lux noticed that she never said much at the meetings, and wondered if anyone else did.

Exiting the room Garen laid a hand on her shoulder. He was smiling contentedly, his steely eyes of sharp approval. "Your match was very good, Luxanna. Very smart, strong, and very Demacian!"

She glowed, feeling like a little kid praised for spelling a word correctly. "Thank you brother!"

"It is one more step towards defeating the Noxians. With that victory, reinforcements have been sent to many encampments bordering Zaun. The question remains _what_ orders are to be given."

Lux nodded, folding her hands behind her. "There's another match tomorrow, isn't there," she said sadly.

He nodded, sighing. "This war won't be over for a long time, I think. Best you get some rest…while you will be in the institute for a while, I must return to Demacia to issue field command. You will be doing what I cannot."

_So I'm like your substitute_, she thought with dejection. Garen didn't seem to sense it.

"I'll be back within the month. Please be careful," he finished, clapping her on the other shoulder before walking off. His armor clanking as he went down the hall, his shadow creeping behind him to remain over her small one.

"All right. I won't disappoint," she murmured. However, as her brother's silhouette faded into the blinding light of the central hall, her stomach churned with loneliness.

* * *

_"74__th__ street, back near the bookstore. You'll never believe what just happened, Miss Jameson…"_

_The hextech receiver crackled._

_"Isn't that the same street as the Palskirtzie's apartment?"_

_"Yeah, but I just asked the kid…she don't know the Palskirtzies. Rather, she don't know anyone it seems, 'cuz she ain't talkin'."_

_"What happened?"_

_"…Little girl. She won't tell me her age. Looks like she met quite the accident though…poor thing can't be more than five I think, just like—"_

_"Don't you say it, Corey. I told you to never even think a' it."_

_"…Sorry…slip a' the tongue. But uh…well, she's not in good shape. She won't talk to any of us, and uh…"_

_"I'm on my way."_

* * *

**So, italics mean flashbacks/thoughts. I will be including many characters, but first want to start with a couple solid ones with only primary PoVs to establish the plot. I'm not saying any pairings as what I intend will probably not start the way they will end. Furthermore, pairings will most likely change to just how the story takes it and how you guys respond to it! Please review, fav. and follow! You readers have no idea how happy reviews make us writers. I'll give you cookies! I hope the chapter wasn't too boring. Also, feel free to criticize. Just no flamers :D**


	3. Lighting the Fuse, Part 2

**Lighting the Fuse: Part Two**

_In a city, tall and dark, rain envelops the sky in a murky-gray cloak. It falls in showers, and clouds the windows, and scatters in pools on the grime ridden streets. Men and women alike, genderless under their raincoats, slosh through the puddles. Then, all as one, they would form an indistinguishable mob of soaked polyester, weaving through cars honking into the traffic. Each face would be the same as the next—dreary, shadowed, and waiting to huddle into creaking hextech taxis. Not to move faster, but to wait. To be sheltered from the weather as the rest move on._

_ However, no matter how cold it was, no matter how hard it poured, I never hid. Now, with water plastering my short hair to my neck, running over my clothes, I only wonder when it may stop. This is my home—had been for years—but it hardly ever even faded. _

_ A hand entangles itself with mine, warm and thin. I turn, my gaze meeting eyes like the rising tide, the gentle blue so very light compared to my piercing red ones. She opens an umbrella above us and sighs, squeezing my hand gently. I realize it's sore._

_ "You alright, Gill?" She whispers. I don't reply; instead, I look down at my hands to my arms, how they've paled in the chill of the night, and how I could see so clearly the cuts and scars snaking across._

_ I don't know how she takes my silence, but she pulls my hand towards the door from which she came. On the front hung a rusty sign, the letters hardly legible; "Orphanage", it said. It may as well read "Prison"._

_ "Come on, dinner's ready," she coaxes. I stare at her glumly. Why can't I just wait in the rain, away from all this? I don't want to go back in there._

_ Her eyes soften. "Lily wants us in now."_

_ Lily Jameson is our caretaker. _The_ caretaker. I take a few seconds to breathe before following her inside, noticing with a fall of my heart that she let go of my hand._

_ Inside, the orphanage is dark, lit only by a few meager candles and an oil lamp. I can smell it over the aroma of stale bread and watery stew, but it's more welcome than the stench of wax. At the wide dining table, all the other kids have already taken their seats, and it's almost full. Two lonely chairs are at the end with a few empty around them, but we take them without much hesitation. _

_ Caretaker Lily's seat is all the way across the table. She's a tall, bony woman with too many wrinkles and dull hair grayer than the city buildings, but it doesn't bother me. She's the one other person I can stand, and the one other person other than Violet I care about, and who cares about me. Like Violet, sitting at my left, Lily had been with me since I had arrived._

_ She meets my eyes and smiles warmly. But, with all the other kids huddling around her for seconds and thirds, she can't get past them to serve us our firsts._

_ By the time we get to eat, it's late at night. When we disperse to the room, I stay close to Lily's warm side, Violet behind her. The kids, though, do nothing but shoot me bitter glances, the edges of their lips twisted up in a sneer. I hear them say all the usual things, the insults, the crude remarks, all the stuff they heard on the streets but didn't know the meaning of. Lily hears them and scolds sharply but it's routine by now. They don't care. Yet, I itch to push forward, to scream in their grubby little faces that I'm the boss. They don't know who I am. Subconsciously, my fingers brush over my scabby knuckles, and I know I should just lay it on them. End it. End it and laugh at them like how they laugh at me._

_ But I know I can't._

_ We get to the room, and Lily leaves. The room is really just a hall with bunk beds lining both sides, and mine is at the dustiest corner, under Violet's. I tap the bottom of her's, or really just the top of mine, unable to fall asleep. After a few seconds, she pops her head down, and we just look at eachother. Her long pink hair, silver in the moonlight, shines against the splintery wood of the beds, old from overuse. I lean forward and it creaks, but I don't care about the sound, and instead run my hand through her hair. It's soft, softer than the down of the baby pigeons that sometimes end up in front of the door, and I feel my own. It's so much coarser, even though she's thirteen and I'm only one year older._

_ Still upside down, she reaches out and touches my cheek. When she pulls back, it's wet, and before I know it, she's hugging me firmly, and I'm hugging back, silently crying, but not knowing what I'm doing. All I can hear is the pitter-patter of rain over the cobwebbed windows, and It becomes my lullaby._

_ We awaken to a crash. In two seconds I'm out of bed and on the ground, ice-water pouring over my head. Past the blurriness of sleep and the fuzz of water in my eyes, I see that it's still dark out, and all the kids are up. Up and above me, laughing and snorting. At me. Out of the corner of my eye I glimpse a boy with a bucket of more water, and jump to my feet, beating back the exhaustion of having just awoken. Before he knows it, I've landed my fist in his face, my cuts reopening, and he cries out clutching his nose. Serves him right. Then I'm lifted off my feet, two bigger kids behind me, and I'm cursing, kicking out. Everything blurs together in one big moment where I'm lashing out at all in sight, head spinning, stomach churning in anger. Is sleep too much to ask for?_

_The lights turn on._

_ I'm on the ground, holding my head. People are yelling. Looking up, there's a figure at the door, then the figure falls. Slips, rather, in a spinning blur of black. The floor all over is slick with water and ice, shining like glass in the moonlight which pierced through the clouds. _

_There's a crack when the figure lands, a squishing crunch that flipped my insides. All the kids, moments ago running around, stood stock still. The silence makes my head pound, a certain heaviness dragging me down, filling me with a dread I'd never felt. What's everyone freaking out about?_

_ As my eyes focus, I realize that the figure has yet to move. I stand up, dizzy, but step forward. All kids' eyes burn into my skull. Morons. What are they looking at me for? Why am I the only one moving? I shiver under their stares, then tense as the thick, coppery smell floods my senses._

_ Then I stop. My feet stepped next to a bucket, dented and on its side. One of the kids had probably dropped it, 'cuz all the contents had flown out all over. It was mostly ice, now melting, but the water around it wasn't how it should be. Shouldn't water be clear? Clear, instead of pink?_

_ I drop to my knees and hold my waist, sickness taking over. I bite it back sharply, unable to tear my eyes away from the figure. It's Lily, her pinched face pale against the darkness around her. She's slumped over a bunk bed, her head on the edge of the covers. Where the rear bed post once was, there lay her thin, open neck, the jagged post jutting out. Nearby I notice where the top part had broken off, but the rest, poking out of Lily's throat, is nothing but splinters ribboned with flaps of dead flesh. Crimson blood fountains, sinks into the rotting floors. Hidden among her shining skin, pearl white bone. And more blood. Always more blood. But…it is her eyes I couldn't take mine away from. Her beautiful, warm eyes. The ones I always imagine my mother to have. These are blank. These are gray, unseeing, filmed over by death's freeing kiss. These are not hers. _

_ Two strong arms lift me to my feet, and I tear from my thoughts. Blood had overflowed my mouth…the whole time, I had been biting deeper into my tongue. I wish it had gone further. But I spit it onto the ground, away from Lily. It might've mostly splattered onto my legs, but I don't care. I can't feel my legs, anyway. I just want to collapse again. Instead, numb, I look up to see an officer. Officer Corey, who takes the midnight shift. He stares at Lily and the group of us orphans, face wound with either shock, or fear, or both._

_ He looks around again and again, almost frantically, then sturdily and all no-nonsense. Then he's yelling at us. 'What happened, who did this?' was probably what he said, but I just stood. What just happened? What just _happened_? My head hurts. I'm shivering. My hands are wet. Sweaty. I think. Or maybe that's the water. _What just happened_?_

_ "It…It was her! Her! She did it, she was angry and just shoved her onto it!"_

_ I stare towards the speaker. The boy with the bucket. All words of protest stop in my throat, refusing to come out. I didn't do it! What is he saying?_

_ Another kid joins in. "She's always been like this, all thug-like! Woulda been sooner or later, that freak woulda snapped!" Soon the whole room is agreeing, pointing fingers, backing away from me, fearful, as if they were believing the trash coming out of their mouths. _

_ It wasn't me._

_ I turn, searching for one face among the crowd. Then, there she is, staring at me, Violet, the color drained from her features, eyes wide. My lips part as if to plead for her support, for my friend. Then I see that Violet, the sturdy, brave, and supportive one, is shaking._

_ I didn't do it! You _know_ I didn't! I try to scream. Instead, she disappears among the mass of little bodies._

_ Inside me, whatever chain held me back from the kids I loathe, whatever lock holding my mind in place existed, snaps. All the thoughts, the protests, the hate, and the love jumbles up into one incomprehensible mess. I try to pick out one little strand to hold onto, only for all of it to tangle and fade._

_ So be it._

_ In the corner of my eye, I see the police officer head towards me, face stern, one hand hovering carefully over his side. It doesn't take reason or thought to put together that he believes every word they said, every lie, every cruel little word I wanted to shove down their throats. Before he can reach me, I bolt to my bunk, shoving kids out of the way. I can sense the officer rushing now, but I'm faster, and grab something from under my pillow. With the handle cold and comforting in my hands, its bite more familiar to me than anyone else, I lunge blindly. Instinct has gripped me, replaced the stupid thing called 'reason'. It sinks into the officer's leg and I pull it out just as fast, wasting no time in breaking for the door. I'm in the kitchen. Door's open, muddy boot tracks trailing in, disfigured by fresh rain._

_ And I'm out. The rain welcomes me. I can't think. I don't want to. Maybe I'll never want to. I look back on the rusted sign, so far away. "Orphanage", it says. I peer out on the city, and I glance down at my wrists, ribboned with dark streaks where skin had re-healed. The orphanage was prison, but now my chains are broken. I know that much. As the officer's yells get louder, I look at the knife. _

_Freedom._

* * *

A hysterical roar echoed through the halls of the institute, followed by an explosion so loud it simply swallowed up the noise before it. The walls seemed to shake, but at the cause of the shock and fear incurred by the occurrence. Jinx stood on her bed, dressed in nothing but boxers and a loose bra, Fishbones over one shoulder. Smoke seeped from every crack in the explosive device, and all over the room. Across from her was an enormous crater shredding through the thick metal walls, built specially to help defend against her destructive habits.

It wasn't really working.

The pale girl was panting, her undone hair stuck to her skin in a cold sweat. The palms of her hands had little red crescents bleeding into the bedsheets where her nails had dug in.

Her head spun.

Her eyes hurt.

And the voices wouldn't stop.

Little whispers occupied the crevices of her mind, laughing and jeering and cheering and leering. No amount of screaming made them shut up. It was only the living who could be killed, and so she feared that they wouldn't die until she did. The option was not lost on her. Not yet.

"Miss Jinx! What's wrong? What happened?" Questioned a series of voices behind her door. It was barred shut with steel, runes and hextech junk, ones which only she had the key to deactivate. They were worried, she could tell that by the way their voices curved flat here and shook there, but not for her. For their own fragile little skins. _Summoners_.

"Miss Jinx! Please respond! Please remember, the institute only has so much—"

A knot of rage twisted inside her.

"Game over!" She screamed, letting loose a volley of bullets from Pow-pow's rusted chamber. "_Over_! Get away and let me sleep you _monkeys_!"

The people outside yelled in panic. "Hold on, we were just—"

"_Get out get out get out get out GET OUT_!"

She kept firing, the little bullets sticking in the door for a few seconds before clattering to the ground. Empty shells poured over her bed, precious little marbles for the necklace she always wanted. When it was empty she cursed wildly and emptied her shorts of their grenades, letting go one after the other until she was scraping the sides of her legs for more.

The summoners were long gone. All across the hall of the unaligned there was a fearful kind of quiet, broken only by her heavy breathing. Her room, nearly empty due to the amount of times she's had to have it repaired, was filmed with the kind of black fog which comforted her.

"Damn it!" She yelled, letting her voice ring before collapsing on her bed. Empty shells rolled off, clinking softly. After her first joy-bombing the summoners were smart enough to put together sound-nullifying magic so the others past the hall couldn't hear her, but that didn't apply to those within it.

"_Damn_ it…" Jinx rolled over, hugging Fishbones and rubbing away the soot on his jaws. "Fishbones, I'll destroy them soon enough. All I have to do is get rid of her. Then we can have a piece of that moon."

Slowly, a shark-toothed grin stretched across her face. "But until then, we can just hit replay."

* * *

Riven stood in the Demacian hall, outside the door of a certain blonde mage. Her heart beat like a jackhammer, so hard she almost didn't hear a little dull noise at the other side of the area. She shrugged it off, instead staring deeply at the intricate pattern of the doorknob. I looked like a snake to her, but that couldn't be right. Lux didn't like snakes.

Well, that's what she said to her brother. Not that Riven would know, of course.

She sighed, reaching for the doorknob. Then she stopped and pulled it back. It was nearly midnight. No champion wanted to be up at this hour…right?

But then again, wouldn't it be romantic to find flowers by your door at midnight?

Riven looked at the bouquet in her padded hands. It was a simple mix of roses, lilac and lavender fresh form Ionia, just like how Lux liked it. Again, not that she'd know. It would be kind of creepy to find something so personalized out of the blue. What if Lux thought it was a stalker? Riven most certainly was not one of those horrendous and irksome characters.

"I'll just leave it here," she muttered to herself at last. The doorknob was so very tempting, but she knew that it was never too smart to push lady luck.

Quickly, the exile started back to her own room. She was starting to feel the fatigue of the day creep up on her, and felt that a nice couple hours of sleep would be the best thing before training at three in the morning. She was nearly out of the Demacian hall until a light hand tapped her shoulder.

Riven turned around. Her eyes widened. Her heart stopped.

Impossible.

* * *

**Dang, did I just write this? WHEW. I do not even know what I wrote. Was there a lot of typos? There probably were. Thanks for reading and reviewing! It makes me so happy :D. Also, just getting it out there, I have no idea if I was able to pull off proper atmosphere. Please tell me what worked, and what didn't, so I can improve! Please and thanks and WOW I still can't believe I was able to write something today ._. Next chapter features more Riven, and some Katarina and Cassie!**


	4. Lighitng the Fuse, Part 3

**Lighting the Fuse: Part Three**

Lux was floating in darkness. She had been floating in light, but it hurt her eyes. Something quiet but cruel in the back of her mind screamed for silence, until she surrendered her light to that which was so much more forgiving.

Yet, that voice was not gone. It had morphed into one of a warm familiarity, yet not quite identifiable. It was from behind her, but she couldn't move from the limbo constricting her form.

"Lux," it mused, echoing through her before whipping back behind. "I do admit you have gotten quite strong since joining the ranks. We hope you prove them wrong."

Her lips moved on their own, riddling word after word from a script she knew had long been written in ink. "That's a lie. I should never have come here."

The voice softened. "How ironic…that is a lie in itself. We need you here. You are our guiding light."

"This light isn't so strong."

"It's weak to you because you have been in it all your life. We only glimpse the tips."

"And the tips are useless, as are what they represent!"

"That is your father talking, Luxanna Crownguard…Your father had always been proven wrong. And like father, like daughter," he said softly. She could feel his kind smile, her cheeks heating up from feelings she couldn't quite identify.

"This is a stupid argument. I have done nothing but lose these battles. I am a detriment. Garen surely thinks so—"

"Garen does not. You're new, there is no way you could possibly be perfect."

"But apparently, you can."

"_We_ can," he corrected. "_We_ are Demacia. _We_ are power-"

"We are the ones of might, justice and light, of the undefeated and of the future. We are the people."

Light chuckles filled the space, from both of them.

"I didn't think you would remember the academy chant, I hardly do," he laughed.

Lux sighed. "Neither did I."

"My point is, you will get the hang of it. You are a crucial part of Demacia…and of _us_. We love you like family."

"You keep saying we," she frowned. "Who precisely do you mean as _we_?"

Silence. Her skin prickled with cold, and a certain nagging voice whispered in the back of her mind.

"Hello?" She forced the word out, and it tore across the dark. Now, she didn't know what to say, as if the flashcards were swiped from under her eyes.

Slowly, a presence surrounded her.

"How does it feel exposing your mind?"

A sense of nostalgia clawed at her heart, swimming with so many memories she had literally locked in cages of light.

"Your wishes are clear, your desires kindled."

Lux tried to speak. Only air escaped her lips.

"Are you the Lady of Luminosity, or your brother's sister?"

Her hands shook.

"Or are you both?"

The darkness was soon seething with light around the edges, singing the cool darkness with a blistering burn.

_"Peirce that which restrains the true light's purity. Quell the might which makes it sear."_

A voice that was not her own, a voice of warm familiarity, yet not quite identifiable, engulfed her world.

"I will."

* * *

Riven and Quinn sat in silence around the team table, next to eachother but leaning slightly away. They didn't know eachother. They never quite cared to try. But for some reason, Quinn felt so much calmer looking at the strange exile than at the blue-themed room around them. Absently she ran her hands over each individual detail of the table—it was a perfect holographic model of summoner's rift—unable to prevent herself from sneaking glances at the woman beside her.

They both jolted as the door slid open, Demacia's light mage stepping through. There was their mid-laner, her hair in an uncharacteristic mess and tied into an obviously rushed ponytail. It was rare to not see her hair down, but they supposed today was not a restful sleep for her.

There were bags under her eyes, for one. Riven set her jaw in concern, nervously crossing her arms.

"Is something wrong?" She asked quickly, as Lux took a seat at the opposite end. The woman in question gave a short laugh, hands fidgeting under the table.

"No, no…you know, it's just one of those days. One of the ones where the bed feels a little…_hard_…you know?"

The exile smiled as well as she could. Such a thing was not her specialty. "I see. Perhaps some cocoa by the pastry shop would do you justice, then. It's a good serum for fatigue." Inwardly, she cursed her formal tongue. She couldn't help it when she was nervous.

"Perhaps," Lux sighed. "Well, I did find some lovely flowers this morning…I guess that adds a lil' good luck to the bad luck I've had lately."

A more natural smile crept across her face. "That's great. I mean, that's good."

For a moment is seemed like Lux would have fallen asleep right then and there. Then, the door opened once more, causing her to nearly jump a foot in the air. Talk about anxious, Quinn noted. She wasn't the only one today.

Shyvana stepped through. Her feral eyes, known to embody not only a beast's wrath but its serenity as well, flicked from one person to the next. A rather perplexed look formed on her face, giving Riven a pointed stare. "Well, it's the Exile. And what might you be doing here?" The dragon didn't necessarily have a mean tone of voice, simply surprised. After all, she was pretty sure it was a Demacian fight to be fought, yet here a Noxian sat in the planning room.

Lux yawned, blinking twice. "Say again? I'm sorry, I just haven't been able to concentrate yet today…maybe I need some coffee…"

Riven, on the other hand, shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Well, I have some scores to settle with Swain, I suppose? He hasn't made life easy for me lately…I assume Demacia hasn't the abundance of members lately with all the skirmishes going on back in the battlefields. I was just asked to participate."

"It's not as if we _couldn't_ use the extra blade," Quinn added, taking a moment from scratching Valor behind the head. Shyvana gave a look of mild interest; she couldn't remember the last time she had heard the ranger speak. Rather, she had never even looked at her with the intention of looking _at_ her before. "I don't think the…Exile…would have problems fighting those she grew up with and then willingly parted from."

Riven found herself giving a slight nod. Shyvana, in turn, shrugged lightly. "Fair enough, fair enough. Sorry if I was rude," she grinned, flashing her fangs. Jarvan always had to remind her of her sometimes untimely and blunt comments, as her nature never did come with politeness and privacy. Dragons do what dragons please.

"By the way, what up with the door?"

She was met with a quizzical look from the blonde, and expectant looks from the others.

"The door. You know, what connects this room to the hall."

"What _about_ the door?" Riven clarified.

"You know. When someone goes through, there's this little 'zing!' noise. And a little static. Summoner magic I think, that's what the prince told me. It makes sure the door only allows entrance to those participating in the specific team…"

"And?"

"There was none!"

After a pause, Riven sheepishly scratched the back of her head. "I never noticed that kind of noise to begin with."

"It's probably an animal thing," Quinn analyzed. Then, after realizing what she had said, quickly corrected herself. "Rather, the noises were probably so faint and high that only those more…perceptive…could notice them. Like Valor. And…Shyvana." She had struggled to remember her name, and hoped her comrade hadn't noticed. Rumors reminded her that the girl often had dangerously combustive temper tantrums, which she did not want to experience firsthand, for the sake of everyone in the room. She imagined, though, that it would not be as bad as getting caught in one of Brand's more lethal strikes.

Valor seemed to agree with her prior statement, flying over to Shyvana and giving her a once over.

Lux, who had been all but attentive during the conversation, instantly shot to her feet. Valor squawked at the sudden movement, placing himself back on Quinn's shoulder.

"What is it?" Riven instantly inquired. She was still on edge from the strange visage from last night…her head was now muddled from who, or rather, what she saw, and did not want to be reminded. Her sword cried for blood. Badly. And this match was supposed to satiate it.

Satiate _them_.

Lux had in her hand a crystal ball. They already knew what it was—in fact, Shyvana and Quinn moments later pulled out their own hextech communicators, each one equally as adorned with Demacian symbols of power and glory.

"It seems there are strange things going on everywhere," Shyvana announced, putting away her communicator with a sigh. Riven tensed. Strange things going on everywhere? Were these happenings not just with her? Was it some ill-fashioned joke? Was it nocturne?

"The battle is postponed to three hours from now. Hell if I know why, though," she scoffed.

The room fell quiet. Lux's head spun. Too many issues, too many inconveniences, too many little things going wrong. The dream. The door. This. The soothing scent of roses had faded from her hair tie—prior to leaving for the battle, she had infused it with the flowers' aroma, in hopes of it keeping her relaxed. Seems that was one more thing dashed.

"Well, ladies, I'm out of here. This little time gap has left me just enough time to—" Shyvana stopped. "I'll just be going now. Oh, and Lux? Jarvan said he wanted to talk to you this morning. I figured there was enough time to tell you now instead of later."

The dragon exited the room, and with her the smell of ashes. Lux had a haunting look in her eyes, only to be replaced seconds later with that of fake delight. "Huh, wonder what he wants me for. I'll meet you guys back here in three hours, then. Don't be late!" All smiles, radiating like gold, she too left the room. It was then that Riven found the air smelling a little less sweet.

Quinn stood up without speaking. The girl's crossbow was clutched tightly in one hand, but poised low to the ground for a more subtle look. Yet, it was not lost on the exile as a very defensive stance. Before she too could slip out of the room, Riven lightly grasped her hand.

A chill ran up their spines.

It went ignored.

"I'm sorry," she gulped, "but may I come with? I…perhaps I could get to know you a little better. We are to be team mates far more in the future, so a tactical move would be to become familiar with eachother."

Valor glared. Quinn nodded, a little too fast, slightly amused by Riven's formality.

It was a good thing the helmet helped hide her blush.

As the three departed, Valor confirmed that there indeed was no more magic sealing the door. They assumed it was a simple malfunction…or perhaps the summoners were notified beforehand that the match would be postponed, and didn't bother monitoring the room. Either way, it didn't concern either of them.

The two girls matched pace, Quinn slightly in front of Riven, and trying furiously to ignore Valor's preening as old feathers fell into her face. The combat hall seemed to complement the duo, as a royal-purple rug stretched across the floor. It was not as regal as the Demacian hall, nor as drab as that of the unaligned, but held a peculiar charm of having no particular atmosphere. Where one color dominated, it was mellowed by that of another. Cryptic symbols lightly embossed each corner of the pale marble walls, so faint that only studying them would unravel the ancient lore told within. In the institute's library, Ezreal could be found writing a book illustrating the precise tales of what many collaborating champions had deduced from each image.

Riven left smart things like that to those who had the brains for it. She had no such talent.

"So, have you and your companion always been together?" She inquired, shooting for a chance to break the silence.

"Valor," she replied, suddenly smiling fondly, "had been with me since my days in the Demacian war academy. He, well, saved me from dropping out, you see."

Riven raised a brow, shifting her stance to a more comfortable one. Quinn didn't seem as uptight as she had initially assumed. "Go on."

Quinn blushed again, this time from embarrassment as well. "I was never a formidable soldier. I…always got the lowest scores in both close quarters combat _and_ tactical training. I was an above average ranger, but a Demacian warrior also had to be able to communicate well with the team."

She peered at the Exile coyly, who had assumed an earnest look of interest. "That was…that is not my forte either. And I was about ready to quit."

"But you found Valor?" She guessed.

"Valor found _me_." And it was true. "He was a bird of the wild, and never lost that nature. He saw me when I was sparring with an older recruit. Obviously, I was losing. Badly. Before I knew it, Valor made an appearance, attacking the man with beak and claw."

She frowned, before testing the bird's name as if it might set him off like a bomb. "Valor…didn't get attacked himself, did he?"

She stroked her partner, who puffed up proudly. "He was too quick, too sharp to be hit by a mere recruit. The spar continued…Bryant, if I remember correctly, was not one to back out either. Within moments, Valor and I were timing attacks perfectly. Never had I been so coordinated. It is as if his instincts become mine when we are together."

Riven laughed lightly. It was a very sweet laugh, Quinn noted, with a very sweet smile. "Even in Noxus, trainers and the like never allow any kind of familiar to aid in battle among recruits. You two must have been quite awe-inspiring to be allowed, or is Demacia just that different?"

She shook her head. "It was also a lot of luck. You see, Sir Garen, as he was called, along with Mistress Lux, and Prince Jarvan were observing the training routines and saw our spar. At the time, I don't believe Lux was in training, but she was impressed."

Valor chirped.

"And so was her brother, and even the prince. It was, after all, to be expected. Not that they were impressed, but that their opinions were unanimous. The three were known to be very, very close. With their words given to the commanding overseers, I was given permission to keep Valor. No, not to keep. To be with."

Riven stopped. With a clank of armor, she rest one hand on the girl's shoulder. "You are both quite lucky."

Quinn turned away, feeling her cheeks heat up. And they resumed their walk, the first comfortable silence cloaking their gait. Often, she would steal sideways glances at the swordsman. Unconsciously, she examined the now bright glint in her eyes. Her hair was soft and jagged at the same time, its alabaster hue contrasting her tanned skin. Lean muscles cast thin shadows each time she ran her hand over her blade, which was quite often, as if being without its physical touch for too long may cut their ties forever. Riven never noticed, never suspected the ranger's nervous glances. Instead, her attention shifted to Lux. She was still troubled by her edgy behavior. Would a simple night of unrest be so problematic? She always seemed so…

Actually, it was hard to tell. Sometimes she was calm. Calculated. Stable.

Or were those merely masks?

That was what intrigued her, and her instincts declared that there was more going on, more which stimulated the pain in her beautiful blue eyes this morning.

"Say Quinn, what do you think of Lux?" She asked softly, looking into the shadows of the hall before them. They had long moved away from the combat hall, and instead strode through the more desolate training hall. Here and there doors would branch off, leading to pools, and yards, and courses of all kinds. However, it seemed that the lights powered by the summoners—which actually possessed healing essence—were at the time deactivated.

Quinn took a moment to choose her words. She did not know much about the Lady of Luminosity. "She is revered by the academy students," she began. "But not by the royal guard. They feel she is, at times, too much like Garen. Like she tries too hard to please."

Riven frowned. Such a motive was also looked down upon by Noxus officials. She wanted to doubt the ranger's words, but found it was a hard thing to do.

"She is very studious. At times, I pass her room back home when I visit the Crownguards, and she's possessed by books. She loves Demacia very much, like most of us," she finished. "That's about as far as my knowledge goes."

She brushed white hair from her eyes, sighed out her nose. "I see. I hope we become good allies," she concluded. But first, she'd have to find out more about her. No doubt if Lux loved her country, she would also have some natural dislike of a Noxian. All Demacians were like that. Quinn, on the other hand, seemed slightly disappointed.

"Riven, do you think that—"

Valor released an ear-piercing screech, jumping from his perch on her shoulder in a burst of blue. The sound of metal-meeting-metal sounded soon after, as Riven raised her weapon against a torrent of blades. They soon retracted, and the three were overcome with a familiar sense of battle.

In the bird's mouth was a dagger, curved and serrated with a wicked design. Had he not caught it, the dark metal would have found its home in Quinn's neck. No doubt it belonged to the Sinister Blade, who flashed from the shadows to sink another one into the Exile's side. She cried out in pain, but wasted no time in sweeping a decisive strike at her attacker. It was deftly avoided, but not after tearing into her leather satchel, throwing knives pouring onto the floor.

She yanked out the dagger, jumping backwards with her right arm extended. She held the dagger still, splattering red all over the pearl floor. Her left hand clutched her own blade in a deathgrip, pushing back Quinn against the far wall in a protective stance. As she did so, blood poured from the wound at her side, soaking past cloth, past leather, past metal and into the air.

The ranger's crossbow was drawn, two bolts already fired. One cracked the wall before them, the other broken in Talon's hand. Valor dropped the dagger, screeching once more.

In front of them, three figures made themselves known. Talon was in the front, steely eyes staring emotionlessly from under his hood. He tossed the projectile to the side, where it slid across the floor. All his weapons were equipped as if in a match, as were Katarina's. In fact, she had even more on her than usual. Strap after strap wrapped across her skin, each one packed tight with who knows what killing mechanism. At the back Cassiopeia glared with her hands enveloped in a violet mist. Her thick tail glistened, each scale like a jewel adorned upon a poisoned crown. The girl's eyes glowed with devilish venom, but were not yet powerful enough to entomb them as rocks.

"The summoners will have you dead for this!" Riven yelled, adrenaline filling every inch of her form. She bore her teeth in a wicked snarl, muscles flexed beyond tension. The magic should have restricted them! Why were Noxians here now? Why was no one coming?

"Summoners? What summoners?" Katarina mocked, smirking. Her emerald eyes shone in the dark, the bloodlust almost tangible.

"I'm afraid the only ones to die will be you two. A traitor and a Demacian rat, what a nice catch!" Her sister laughed. It sickened her. The desire to sharpen her blade, fight a formidable opponent was one that used to steal her soul, but it was never for the pleasure of the kill. These people were different, and she knew that from experience. More than once had her throat been the assassins' prize on the battlefield. If any of them landed a good blow on the ranger, she would bleed out in an instant. If she wasn't decapitated instead.

"Quinn," Riven whispered, "How fast is Valor?"

She was breathing heavily, a strange instinct dominating her senses. The blood didn't help. It took a brief moment for her to register what the Exile said, to which her eyes widened.

"_No_. I can't fight without Valor. I wouldn't last a second."

"You wouldn't have to. I can protect you, but we _will_ need help."

Talon interrupted into action, appearing above Quinn with knife in hand. It slammed off the broken sword, flying into the ceiling where it broke off chunks of stone. Katarina came in soon after, slicing a long line down her shoulder, although her aim was the head. She was fast.

Quinn was too.

In an agile kick, she launched off the assassin and fired not one bolt, but three in rapid succession. The first was dodged with ease, but the next two were harder. Quicker. Stronger. The second clipped her hand, the third tore through its center.

Katarina screamed.

The ranger hadn't felt like this in a long time. The stink of blood was unbearable, but she reveled in it. The pain was immense, her shoulder slick and the wound getting longer by the second, but those little chains around her muscles were slowly, slowly, chipping and cracking.

And Katarina felt it. She saw it in her eyes. She heard it in her yells, and smelled it in her blood. This was not a match fight. This was not political.

This was real and for their damn lives.

Purple substance mingled with the blood which had collected on the floor, accompanied by a loud hissing as it seemed to chew away at the expensive looking tiles. Katarina had intuitively rolled away just in time, but the others were not so lucky. Talon cursed loudly as a little bit splattered on his forearm, already spreading, his veins now well defined as they came in contact with Cassiopeia's venom. Quinn had grabbed her bird, who surely would have died, and spun around mid-jump, a good amount landing and eating away at her back. She sucked back a scream, a commendable feat, but bit her lip until it split. Katarina had experienced the unrestricted wrath of her sister's poison, and the sensation of your flesh being literally burned from your bone was not pleasant. And it was just a little. Just a drop. It nearly put a hole in her foot.

Riven called out her comrade's name, catching her and just parrying Talon's strike with the opposite arm. It was a strong hit, however, and slammed her hand into the wall. A numbing shock ran through her body, leaving both of them defenseless. Valor too, though saved from being consumed by the poison, was dazed and stuck between the both of them.

Katarina's dagger came first. Somehow, by some miraculous luck, it pierced only the warrior's armor. A chunk of it fell to the ground. Then came Talon, once more. His entire left leg was shredded from his own blades in the midst of his trade-off with Riven, but now wanted to return the favor. Never had she seen the man truly angry, and even now, with his body a painful mess, his face remained that of stoic indifference.

As fast as he came, he rolled to the side. First she was confused.

Then she knew why.

As he moved out of the way, she saw a bright green claw heading right for them, partnered with a rancid smell. Flecks of gold, pure energy and pure heat, flickered within the appropriately named fang. It had taken many a lives with just one bite, and just one bite was all it would take to kill them all. Cassiopeia stood behind it. Her hand was still extended, her eyes still glowing, but her face was twisted into a look of not only triumph….but something so much more confusing, and so uncharacteristic of her cruel and demonic reputation.

Was this it?

* * *

**Okay, so Lighting the Fuse was only supposed to be a two part thing...and then a three part thing...but then I found that it got waaaaayyy to long and waaayyy to boring in the beginning so then I decided okay this has to be a four part thing before launching into action...although it already DID get pretty action-y here so yeah but YEAH! And wow. There really isn't a healthy amount of Katarina in here, or Lux, or even ANY Jinx, and I promise that will be remedied in later chapters:) but for now, I'm just establishing all sorts of questions, to which the answers may not come until much, much later, or not at all. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, faved and followed! It really makes my day whenever I see it in my mail :) Also, guests, I can't reply to you personally since you don't have accounts, but I greatly appreciate your comments, and love that y'all enjoy my story! X; I'm glad you liked it, I wasn't sure it would be a favorable approach to her character. That made me happy :D**


	5. Lighting the Fuse, Part 4

**Lighting the Fuse: Part ****Four**

It was it. It was done. They had won. But the moment the knife left her hand, she had lost. Her will came short of following through, and wavered just a little off.

Just a little was all they needed.

A cold shiver ran up her spine, wracking her body with a sense of unease. She looked at her sister and knew she felt it too, by the way her lips curled slightly down, and the tip of her tail seemed to perk by just a hair. It was in her eyes too. And the tension in her shoulders. Like a snake playing dead.

Talon had gone in for the kill, but Cassiopeia had the same intention. Just in time Katarina managed to yell a sharp warning, saving him the ill fate of burning alive. Instead, the Demacian and the traitor would have that honor. If they were lucky, it would only last for a second as the poison penetrated their hearts. The bird would end up like that, and possibly the ranger with her already searing wound. However, the Exile would writhe in unrivaled agony as the foul stuff first bled through her armor, spreading to the whole of her body before gnawing its way past each and every nerve.

If only for a little, the air turned cold, tearing her away from her predictions. She had, after all, been killing with her sister for years.

Whatever. Threat disposed of. Her hand hurt like hell, but that would be nothing compared to her reptilian sister's most agonizing strike. The fang was a great amount of her venom concentrated into one, so lethal it quite literally glowed with death. Even the air around it was bitter with what would soon be a carrion stink.

Hiding bodies was below them, after all.

But it seemed such a thing would be unnecessary anyway. The fang froze, as if stopped in time, in front of Riven's face. She had a look of horror, eyes wide open, and still breathing harshly. But she wasn't dead. Not even touched. Silence enveloped them all, then, with not even their collective breathes audible. The bird, moments ago struggling, was stock still.

Somehow, the feeling was familiar.

Katarina tried to move.

Nothing.

It was as if she had turned to stone. Like when Cassie did it. Only this time, they were all conscious. Who's fault could this be? Were there any champions with this kind of power?

It couldn't be Zilean, that time-bending old fart. He could speed time, yes, and slow it, even freeze it, but it wouldn't affect them to this degree. Had time been frozen, they couldn't possibly notice. Besides. Zilean would have neither the gall nor the wit to be here.

As if answering their unspoken questions, each of them became cloaked in a shell of azure light, translucent and shimmering as if it was actually liquid. The shell seemed to get thicker and thicker, until at last Katarina could see only black. It was then she recognized the feeling. It was what all of them had experienced so many times before, save for the whole paralyzing them thing.

It was a summoner's call.

Concluding her thought, the darkness peeled away. She was at the central hall. No, they were at the central hall. Everyone. What was first confused silence turned to confuse mutters then confused yelling as champions found themselves staring into the faces of their comrades. She herself saw General Swain in front of her, with an emotionless mask over him, betraying no surprise. His wretched bird perched just as smartly on his squared shoulders, as if looking down on peasants from a castle.

In fact, that was probably close to the truth, she thought to herself.

"You failed."

It was a simple statement. Two words. His tone seemed flat, uncaring even, but after years of bending to his will she could feel the true magnitude of the malice shrouded beneath syllable. It was part of which forced her to respect him no matter how much she hated him as well. She didn't fear him though. It went beyond fear—it was the straightforward knowledge that in his eyes, she was now the prey, the peon, the servant, and he had every right to be the one holding her leash.

Power was everything.

"If we had a second more, we would have succeeded. Literally, just one fucking second was all we needed," Katarina protested.

"Then you could have been one second faster."

"Easier said than done, Swain. I hadn't—none of us had expected the Exile to be there. The message said Quinn alone—"

"—And there were three of you. Three top class assassins. However, I suppose it's difficult to ensure that foolish children with your meager blood stay fully mature."

"You had to have seen us! We beat the shit out of them, the two might even be dead already from blood loss!"

"Yes, I saw the damage you inflicted." He paused, turning his head to poach her gaze with his loathsome glare. "I also saw the damage you did not."

"Swain—"

"Silence. You were trained never to hesitate. Yet you did. Several times. Explain."

The assassin growled lowly but did not meet his eyes. "It's hard to not fucking think twice when one slip up means you're dead on the goddamn ground. I refuse to rank among the corpse legends who fell prey to carelessness."

"You were never careful. Don't pretend to be, Sinister Blade. Get it together or I won't think twice about reevaluating this situation."

She clenched her fists, mostly from frustration at her own error. As always, Swain was right. If she hadn't hesitated, the mission would have been a total success. But at least it wasn't a total loss. The Wings of Demacia certainly had some spunk back there…it would be quite some fun to play with her again. There was something wild, primitive even, that drew Katarina to her. And, scanning the group of Demacians at the opposite side of the hall for the first time, she saw that same girl in question, whose rage-dominated eyes seemed to sear holes into her heart. The ranger's fellow Demacians were in a state of panic, rushing about and calling for Soraka, but her stare had yet to falter. Katarina returned it, but with an arrogant wink. Then she melted into the shadows of the Noxian champions, where Cassiopeia and Talon hid from prying eyes.

The Serpent's Embrace had her hands over Talon's arm, gently running the tips of her claws upon his wound. It looked as if the skin had boiled and popped, little craters carved into the flesh, excreting a vile mix of bodily fluids. His thick veins seemed to pulse as the serpent slowly drove the tips of her fingers into them, sucking away both the blood and the poison which dwelled within.

Yes. She could use her poison to rot a man, form the inside out. She could also take it away.

Noxians did not revere her medical prowess as they did her devastating wrath. However, after she almost killed her sister in an argument-turned-lethal, she found learning how to save a life as well was useful.

No, not useful. That's what Cassiopeia told herself. But, during that argument, it had been crucial.

Talon hissed in both pain and relief as the sensation of being eaten alive lessened to a harsh burn. Beyond the pain, he had not broken eye contact with Katarina, whose hand bled onto the floor. Wordlessly he rummaged through his robe, pulling out a disheveled roll of bandages. He tossed it. She caught it.

A simple exchange.

To the common one. There were little things no one, not even Cassiopeia, the two took note of. The little twitch in the corner of Katarina's mouth—she was angry, and in pain. The slight shadow under Talon's eye, the wrinkle between them—his worry. The miniscule, almost soundless exhale through her nose, acknowledging his gesture, ignoring her pride. They had always been able to read eachother like open books. His stony, cold exterior was a rock, a rock of which only she could see the cracks. That's also why Talon was less concerned about the hole in the girl's hand, and more so about the foreign look she gave the ranger, which Katarina herself was probably unaware of.

"This is ridiculous," Cassiopeia hissed. She was the only one who had emerged unscathed from the previous encounter, but her sister recognized the tone in her voice—there was something bothering her.

"That would be an understatement," Katarina scoffed.

"Whatever. Swain was mad, right?"

"What would also be an understatement."

"Veeery funny." She rolled her eyes, claws clinking impatiently at her side.

"Either way, he knew this would happen. Chances are, the fucker will have our heads on a nice little platter if we fail again; my Swain senses say he'll give us another damn assignment."

"Another damn assignment where we don't know how to do it, and why the fuck we even are!"

"Not that I mind myself a good bloodbath, of course."

Another eye-roll.

"There are other things to worry about than who to kill next."

"Like?"

"Oh, I don't know. What may the consequences be for assaulting two champions and killing neither?"

Katarina finished binding her hand. It still hurt—like fucking hell—but she could still move some of her fingers. As in two.

"Well, the Demacians are nothing to be afraid of," she yawned lazily. "And that traitor has no allies. There won't be anyone seeking good ol' revenge for the bitch. She might even be dead already with no one to take care of her!"

The thought brought a childish smile to her face.

"Sometimes I wonder how I'm related to such a fool," her sister spat. "Now that the bars are lifted, the Demacians you hold to such low regards will be filling the halls, out for our blood!"

"When did you lose your guts? We're trained killers, Cass—"

"And so. Are. They. You know how lethal my poison is—"

"Exactly, so why are you complaining?"

"Shut up I'm trying to speak!"

"You cut me off first!"

"You are such a child." Katarina took it as a compliment and smirked. "As I was saying, if I am so much weaker in a match, then how much stronger do you think they are without the bar?"

"Or _maybe_ they're actually weaker, huh? Maybe they're such pussies they need more muscle to make it fair."

"Did they seem weak to you?"

Her sister hesitated, suddenly being reminded of the pain. "Cass, they're nothing but air-headed wimps."

"Air-headed wimps who poked a hole in your fucking hand."

The Sinister Blade clenched her fists, three fingers dangling limp where the bones had been torn to bits. She readied a sharp retort, until an explosion wracked through the air.

In the center of the room, a pedestal rose from the ground. Champions who happened to be atop it jumped off, cautious because of the explosion, which no one had even seen—only heard. Barriers of pure energy shot from the ground, barring in each faction to its own. Darius slammed it with his axe, only for him to fly back and barrel into Draven. Even more confused, angry, and irritated yells filled the room. Talon glimpsed a very ticked off Brand unleash a cast amount of lava upon the barrier he was caged in, along with several others, only for it all to seemingly dematerialize the moment it came into contact with the wall.

"Silence!" Swain snapped, his bird Beatrice cawing in lieu. It was a much more wicked, hoarse noise than that of the ranger's bird. His was flat out annoying.

The whole of the Noxians paid instant heed, even Draven. Then, following his line of sight, Katarina saw a lone figure upon the pedestal, patient yet malicious.

Across the room, Lux also saw the figure. She was sitting on the ground, clasping the hand of a now unconscious Quinn. They were unable to find Soraka, but at least the bleeding had stopped, thanks to Shyvana's quick but…painful thinking. The girl's wounds were not cauterized, but the agony was too much for her to bear. It had been a miracle she wasn't dead to begin with.

When she saw the figure, however, her attention had been captured. As more and more champions saw him, they too fell quiet, be it from unknown respect, curiosity, or by some hidden power.

When all was silent, the man's voice boomed over the crowds. "Welcome, champions. For the future, it is right for me to say I am truly sorry. For the world, it is right for me to say it is necessary. Unfortunately, I cannot enlighten you on the coming state of Valoran. It would prove quite irrelevant. However, I can enlighten you on your own fates."

Lux's eyes were glued to his face, her ears trained to his voice. Somehow, she could comprehend neither. His face seemed to be human, yet when she tried to focus on it, the features became muddled. His voice seemed masculine, yet each word was in such a different tone it was hard to tell.

"Actually, not even I can tell you that. Your fates are your own, as mine is mine. I will be frank…Valoran rests on each of your shoulders, yet on none of them. There is a great havoc coming to Valoran, and we, the Summoners, have _vowed_ to stop it. The deaths of few for the life of many…it is a small price to pay. And you Champions, true to the name, are the power we _need_ to stop it. We…Valoran…need the most powerful generals to lead us to victory. The most powerful by both mind and body. By the end of a set period of time, we, the summoners, and all of the world shall pick among the ones who harness the qualities we are looking for."

She wanted to look away, and to banish his voice. She wanted to yell out and question the mass of nonsense the man spouted, but found neither were possible.

"Those who do not will be mere pawns of the army the chosen will lead. I apologize for that as well, but we summoners as well will bow before the chosen, you see."

Shut up.

"Each day, a task shall be posed to each of you Champions, and each in a different way. Those who accomplish their tasks shall have a single wish granted…a single wish, be it wealth, power, love, or even something lost. This Wishing Well lies beneath your very feet…it is up to you how you get to it. I bid you all good luck. Do not think my words as lies, or you will be the first to fall."

His entire form became disfigured and disappeared, as if he was smoke, or dust, or particles dissolving into the air. Lux tore from her trance, eyes wide, and suddenly realizing she had been squeezing Quinn's hand so hard it paled. Everything he said was like a mess of letters in her mind. Something of wishes. Something of fate. Something of something of something of something…it was tangled. She got up and pushed through Jarvan and Shyvana and all the other Demacians, unaware that the barriers had dissipated, until she came upon Garen.

He had not left after all.

Jarvan had called for her before, to tell her this. Garen lay unconscious, watched over by Xin Zhao. He was found nearly dead this morning…her heart sobbed. He had a bloody gash tearing across his body, from the shoulder to the hip. That was the only wound. Yet, it was all she could see when she saw him. He didn't look strong anymore. He didn't look invincible.

He looked like Garen Crownguard.

* * *

Riven was wrapped in a cloak, hiding all her wounds. She felt like living death, but it showed only in the darkness under her eyes and the sweat at the back of her neck. She was pushing sloppily past one person and the next, and went ignored among the confusion. Everyone was wondering about that man—what he said—and so she knew she had to see Lux and Quinn. Somehow, the Noxians had to have known. Why else would she have been attacked? No other champions know by fact that they can do so. It was hardly even implied by the strange man.

A bit of blond hair and a long pike peeked past the sea of people. Riven moved faster, legs sore and burning.

"Lux!"

"Riven?"

The Exile hadn't realized how loud she had spoken. Jarvan, Xin, and several others stared at her both questioningly and threateningly. Why?

The slight smell of blood, not her own, tickled her nose. There, mostly covered by the armored stature of the Prince, lay a familiar champion, the brother of Lux.

Suddenly the hostility seemed more powerful. Nervously, she flicked her gaze back to Lux. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be…intrusive or anything. Really. It's just…" The men continued to stare. "I'm sorry—"

"Stop apologizing," the mage half-laughed, shooting her comrades a stare. The stare said 'It's okay, back off', but to them that was just more reason to be on guard.

"Well, um, would you mind coming with me for a little?" The end of her pitch shook, fatigue creeping in. "I have something very important to talk to you about. It would take but a moment of your time."

She smiled. "Absolutely."

Relief flooded over her. The two began to move away from the penetrating stares, until one more voice rose above the rest.

"Wait! Lux! Get over here right now!" They turned to see Heimerdinger, the Inventor, his goggles falling off and face the visage of excitement.

"Heimerdinger? Do you have the results?" Jarvan asked, confused.

The scientist bobbed his head frantically, rushing towards Lux and then moving away from her when he saw Riven. His face contorted into one of quizzicality, then fear, then complete and utter panic. His little hands scrambled for some kind of weapon on his person, but he had none.

"Agh! Get away from that savage!"

Her brow furrowed, a puzzled look crossing her face. "Heim? Is something—"

"Get away from her NOW! I got the results. And the results are her! So get away from that conniving little brute!"

"What are you—"

"She is the one who attacked your brother!"

* * *

**Damn, I really feel like I rushed that last part waaaaay too much. Please let me know of any typos or things that need improving! Sorry for the long time no update by the way-I've been busy lately. And next week is midterms, so I really should have been studying instead of writing this but hey...I needed to unwind or become insane. Anywho next chapter I promise lots of Jinx! She's gonna come in with a bang.**


	6. Finding the Darkness, Part 1

**Finding the Darkness: Part One**

Jinx laughed maniacally at the confusion before her, as champions huddled amongst themselves chatted nervously. None had yet left the room, instead choosing to stand by friend and foe to contemplate the newest matter at hand. She saw the Demacians, they were the loudest, the rudest, the most skull-cracklingly annoying with their ridiculous sermons of peace and hypocritical justice. Even the Noxians were far better company—at least honesty prevailed in such a violent and vulgar community, both of which she loved with open hearts. It was hard not to. Why torment another faction when all she had to do was walk into a Noxian's basement to see a show?

She saw the intellectual book-headed morons in their corner, silently gazing through sparkly glasses and shiny, shiny little baubles as if they told them who she would kill the next day. The thought of them claiming to be all knowing ones, better than anyone else when their brains were no match for the single bullet of a gun made her want to pull out Pow-pow right now, and sink a sharp one right between the eyes.

Aim. Shoot. And fire.

No, no. Forget the aim. Just fire.

Closest the the pedestal, where the strange man had made both his appearance and disappearance, was the Piltover crew.

Fuck the Piltover crew.

They were always breathing down her neck. Couldn't a terrorist get a break? Just one weekend in peace with Fishbones? Just one, where she could blow up a city in peace? Was that really, _really_ so much to ask for? Jinx knew the sheriff and her boy-toy had better things to do than babysit Fathands and her muscleheadedness. Even she knew that their favorite game was fuck as long as you can, see who passes out first, and it was a relationship she guessed Katarina and her broken off-switch would envy.

"But Fathands…oh Fathands…you got another thing coming to ya' if you think there's any way out…." Jinx emerged from where she stood in the shadows. "And in more ways than one!"

Had anyone been looking up, they would have seen a blue haired girl balanced perfectly on the hall's support beams, had anyone been thinking straight, they would have noticed the glimmer of blue across the ceiling and the beams and the walls as the girl hefted a shark-like weapon upon her shoulder. She was grinning a grin wider than her rocket-launcher's, eyes bright and full of life brought on by the most sickening of revitalizations, hands shaking with excitement.

In her right hand, a bright blue orb was clutched tight, the plasma-like substance flaring white where her fingers touched. Her smile widened, and slowly, as if digesting the moment, Fishbone's jaws lined up with the Enforcer's soft pink hair.

"Bye-bye."

* * *

First she was staring into her eyes. They were filled with the bleeding dark blues of pain, the flecked sparks of anger, the blank depths of sorrow and beneath it all, a pulling wrecking tearing hymn of splinters and nails, smashing all the turmoil into something she could not bear to see, but could not fathom looking away from.

It was madness. The inner workings, the thing which oft found its way buried, for sure, into the blonde's heart. This time though, the shell had peeled to reveal a boiling interior. What hurt more, more than seeing the abyss she had long known was locked within her love's white light, was knowing that it was all directed at her. The sharp, rage-filled glares of the other Demacian men were mere skin pricks in comparison, as hers was a knife clawing its way through her flesh, twisting and rending and shredding a new kind of agony.

Lux and Riven were not the best of friends. They were not of a sisterly relationship nor a brotherly kind, but neither had many they could dare to call comrades in something but arms. Since day one the Exile had been entranced by the light mage and so since day one they shared passing words, sparing glances, wavering smiles and that alone was something to connect them. Each week they spent more and more time with eachother, in spite of the dwindling awkwardness Riven could not seem to shake off.

The image of those tormented eyes were erased from her view as the ground shook. No…it did not shake. It seemed to erupt. Her vision was flooded with a painfully bright light and then dimmed down to wisps of color pressing at the back of her eyes, as smoke filled her nostrils and blood spluttered from her lips. She couldn't feel anything but pressure on her head, couldn't hear anything but a tight ringing, until a darkness cloaked over her mind.

_Wake up. Exile, you are no use to me dead. Wake up….wake up…_

It was a soft voice, but woven with a thousand different tones. It seemed to fade before coming back stronger and more hateful, as if the sound was carved into the cave of her mind.

_Rise to your feet, come to your senses…I cannot reach you if you reject my presence…._

Her bones felt cold, the brightness fading from her eyes. She glimpsed rubble, turned her head and found more rubble, moved her arms and found they were coated in it.

_We are calling you, but no call can be understood without being first fully heard…let the nightmare engulf you…._

She was on her back, but no longer winded. Her first instinct was to find Lux. She had to be okay. But, over the cracking floor and collapsing ceiling and fiery air there was little to be found. Champions were all over the place, but the Demacians….

No. There they were. Lux was helping to support Garen and another unconscious man, with the aid of the Prince. For a moment Lux looked back, face scratched and hair dark with soot, but her gaze went right through her. As if…she wasn't there.

_Because you're not, foolish Exile._

_Nocturne!_ She exclaimed internally. Now she recognized the voice. _Get out of my head!_

_No._

_You rotten—_

_Do you want to die?_

Her throat closed up. Riven peered down at her prone form, finding it engulfed in shadows. Nocturne was a fiend of the dark, yes, but he also had great prowess of light…by swallowing it. He was a master of illusions, and most likely saved her from the Demacian warriors with his powers. But the question remained.

_Why?_

_How typical of you to ask, stupid girl….. But I won't humor you._

She remained silent. Her body felt like it was run over, eaten by Cho`gath and then regurgitated to repeat the process. Still, she peered at Lux's fading figure as she turned back around and disappeared into the smoke, a little ball of light signaling her being, but that too eventually blinked out. Her hand reached out as if to pull back the mage, as if chasing her with her mind, before it fell limply back to the ground.

_Pitiful…some warrior you are… Nocturne sighed. And thus your will has become quite pitiful as well…. it is so weak it is irritating…fortunately it is also too weak to resist me…_

Riven stared forward, unblinking. She had no energy. Explosions burst around her once more, chunks of marble and stone and granite landing in tremulous heaps.

_I cannot fathom your importance to us, pitiful girl_. The monster seemed to shrug, she could see it in her mind. _Alas, the Warden knows best…_

Slowly her eyes began to close, and a warmth spread on the center of her chest.

_Sleep now, girl…your nightmares shall sweep you away…._

The warmth shot through her veins, and the lullaby of his laughter took her to the dark.

She awoke, ironically, from a dreamless slumber. Her hands gripped soft cloth, white as snow, surreal in the ebony walls and coal-dusted rugs. The bed was large, too large, to the point that she felt as if it was used for something other than just sleeping. In like, the room itself was enormous and it did not help that the only other piece of furniture was a mirror, which in fact seemed to stretch the expanse of the area.

There was a single door, large and with two metal handles. From the handles, strips of the same elegant white cloth flowed to the base, where an eye was carved in. It seemed to glow, that eye, as if it truly was some entity gazing at her through the symbol.

Perhaps there was.

Riven forced herself into a sitting position—instantly she was rewarded for her efforts with the sensation of a knife in her brain, as if her skull would shatter and the pieces would stab even deeper. Her wounds were gone, but it seems they had collected instead to her mind. Looking down at her body, it became apparent that someone had taken care of her quite well, for her armor and layers of padding had been removed and there was instead a simple combat uniform—soft cloth and thin pads over more critical areas.

She recalled Lux's vanishing form, the look of despair in her beautiful blue eyes. They reopened the wound her caretakers failed to heal, the one crisscrossing her heart, with the same deadly daggers.

She believed it. She believed she attacked Garen.

Every word.

After all, no one deny solid evidence. Heimerdinger was that evidence. Nothing escaped him, he was a genius of the highest caliber; mistakes were not of his tongue, not of his world. If he says she assaulted the Might of Demacia, then no matter how foolhardy the act, she did it.

Only she didn't.

Her hands balled into fists. Strange things were happening, one after the other. There was no letting her guard down, or anyone's for that matter. As for the explosions…

The door slammed open. Bright white flooded into the room like liquid sun, so bright in comparison to the dreary room that she was forced to shield her eyes. She heard the door crash against the walls, and a hardly audible 'oops'. A blur of a silhouette seemed to appraise the wall the door had crashed into, before shrugging haphazardly and walking up to Riven. She squinted her eyes at the intruder, making out a pale face, large eyes, a thin frame…was that blue hair?

The figure grinned wildly, and put two fingers against the exile's throbbing head.

"Bang."

That was when the dots connected. Neither moved—not the injured girl from her position on the bed, nor the self-proclaimed, and widely proclaimed maniac, with the tips of her fingers not even twitching. The silence was like a long breath, pieces coming together from the scattered fragments of comprehension in her head. As for the terrorist, the knot of thoughts nested within hers were as much mysteries as the arcane magic which wreathed the world, as not even she herself could decipher them.

It was Jinx behind the explosions.

Jinx had to be working with Nocturne.

It was obvious.

"But why?" She wondered aloud, leaning forward slightly. Jinx's face twisted into an expression of disappointment, anger and happiness, all at the same time.

"Why? Why? That's all you have to say when a mass murderer points a gun to your head? And I know. Yes I do. I know that you're not even talking about that. Hehe!"

Slowly, the Exile brought her hand over the other's girl's, leading it away from her forehead.

"That is not a gun, Jinx. And you are not a mass murderer." She continued moving closer, until their lips were almost touching. "Just a terrorist."

She pouted like a child—really, that was what she was. A little girl stuffed into a young woman's body, in such a cruel manner that the pain on the flesh was moved to the pain in much more fatal places. It was frightening, truly knowing her, because every word, every action was something which completely altering that knowledge.

Was she a killer? A joker? A wrath, a fighter, a child or even a puppet?

None of the above? All of the above?

Yeah. Riven always had to go with that.

Yet in their more intimate moments, she was also reminded that Jinx was also just a girl. Her sanity had been driven to the tormented corners of her bones, etched where the darkness clouded. When her most human impulse took over, it would emerge, yet fleeting, so soon snuffed.

She nipped the Exile's nose and giggled, jumping backwards with her hands hidden behind her. She had a playful kind of smirk, where beautifully soft lips peeled back to reveal feral white canines. They matched her cotton-candy eyes in a certain animalistic, dare she say rabid way, as they danced with blood red depths.

"While I would love to participate in your favorite game, now is not the time. Where is Nocturne?"

Disappointed, she rolled her eyes. "Come on come on! You sound like rusty ol' Fishbones now! All what matters and no fun, all 'this is right, don't do that, now is not the time!'"

"Haven't you ever tried listening to him?"

At this she fell backwards with a whine, covering her ears with her hands. "I don't wanna listen to him! He just has to listen to me! You know, don't you get the feeling he does waaaaayy too much talking and not enough shooting? Shooting is the fun stuff, but he always always always tries to be boooring. Maybe he needs a de-barker! I know, I'll install one after I finish upgrading Pow-pow's boom powder! That way there's more blood, you know, and—"

Riven slid out of the covers, grabbed Jinx roughly by the throat and pinned her to the bed. Her bright blue braids splayed out across the sheets like silken tassels, slim arms pushed down by two tan hands. The warrior pressed they bodies together, one warm the other cold, and first nipped, then kissed the younger girl's collarbone. Their breaths caught, sucking the air of its noise, before she brought her lips to her ear.

"Let's figure out what's going on first. Tell me where Nocturne is, and don't pull any tricks. Then we'll play _both_ of our favorite games."

For a moment she didn't reply, but then touched their noses with a lust-filled grin and honest eyes.

"Deal."

They lingered there for a second, before they pushed off the bed. Jinx seemed to skip to the door, the lust already shedding to simple excitement, so much she glowed. Her laugh filled the room, and then the hall where they emerged one after the other.

The hall was a plain one, with white washed walls and reflective tile floors. Not a spot of dark was to be seen, though countless mirrors and pearly surfaces bounced back the flaring ceiling lights. In fact, parts of the floor itself were mirrors, and she was suddenly glad that a skirt didn't find a home in her wardrobe. The general composition of the place, with the slightly arched walls and glass gildings, made the place seem so much bigger than it actually was.

It felt like this absolutely could not be Nocturne's hall. Then she remembered how dark the room was. Perhaps he, being spectral shadow, did not use the halls? Perhaps he simply navigated by room, amidst the black that fibered his soul. She was unsure, also, which hall this could even be. The nightmare had no alignment…and then again neither did Jinx. Did that mean they both housed in the unaligned hall? She had always thought that they would choose some other affinity to their liking—she herself preferred a personal hall given to her by the summoners—perhaps Noxus or Zaun giving the terrorist's hobbies.

Explosions. Death. Parties. Sex.

Even inventing.

Had she possessed a more typical appearance, there would be nothing for her to distinguish as not one of the two.

She would know.

Since their arrivals at the league, the girls had found something instinctive within eachother. Something with no sentiment, no logic, something that simply had to be because their bodies wanted it. No. _Needed_ it. And so one day, the found themselves succumbing to their impulses, during days of grief and anger and victory and simple desire. It would have been a disrespectful relationship to her warrior nature, but not unusual to her Noxian heritage. Maybe that's what drove her into their 'friendship'…just being Noxian.

It was that depressing thought which drove her to the memory of the one she used, betrayed and tossed aside. The one who now loathed her more than anything, and had every right to.

They stopped at an intersection, where one wing had all the lights punched out. Slowly the brightness of the hall they stood in was consumed until there was but pitch blackness, beckoning with its malevolent mist. Her partner smirked, with a mock bow and the paleness of her skin not unlike moonlight.

"Ladies first."

Riven walked into the dark. She did not hear steps behind her, and she did not look to see if she followed. Darkness was never Jinx's thing, contrary to popular belief.

Each step was a bell, an alarm ringing in her head. The air was heavy and threatening with malice, her instincts screaming for her to raise her blade and assume hostility. Her heart, however, said otherwise. Why would so much care be taken into healing her, if just to kill her? They needed her for something. What, she didn't know. She did however recall her savior mocking her will.

Such a recollection brought a pang to her chest. Lux believed she was going to kill her brother.

But it wasn't her.

Was it?

Slowly Riven released a breath, an attempt to calm her edgy nerves. That night was not a pleasant one. What if, inadvertently she _had_ attacked Garen? The piece of her past which had yanked out the worst in her had appeared once more, but not in the form of a nightmare. In the form of a hallucination.

_Are the two not one in the same?_

Her eyes widened a fraction, before sighing out her nose. "Out of my head."

His laughter echoed through her mind, as the shadows swirled around her.

_Girl, I am in everyone's head. I cannot not be in your head. And you are the one who let your thoughts open…_

She stopped walking. A pair of intense eyes glowed in the black, penetrating her soul. Every movement seemed to be impaired by a thick fog, every nerve filled with helpless fear. Her throat constricted, her hair stood on end.

This was not the fear she was used to. This was not like running into battle, with death breathing down her neck. This was not like laying in a hospital bed, being told you probably won't live. This was not like turning your back on your home country, and wishing you could take the burden of those left behind.

This was the pure essence of it, fused with her being.

This was Nocturne.

_Feel the fear_, he mused, _and embrace it_. _Your fragile little heart cannot hope to combat what you feel._

Riven had no reply. Her mouth was dry and head spinning, so much that if she tried, it would end up a whisper.

The eyes grew closer, until his shadowy face was almost touching hers. She could feel his blades hovering over her, cold and glistening. She stood stalk still, as if even twitching would send them across her throat and through her chest.

_What are you afraid of?_

She swallowed, the shattered remains of her will fighting desperately to keep her thoughts contained.

_Girl, you cannot hide yourself. The nightmare is in everything, and I am the nightmare._

She swallowed, biting into the inside of her cheek until she tasted copper.

_Are you afraid of me?_

One blade traced over her collarbone, sending involuntary shivers of fear down her spine.

_Are you afraid of her?_

Images of Lux flew past her eyes, her bright face, bruising kindness and gentle smile.

_Or…are you afraid of yourself?_

She saw red. The biting terror was overwhelmed by heinous memories _of that man_, her sword through his side, his through hers, the blood that had spilled. Instantly Riven dashed forward, the specter's blade making a clean cut past her neck. Her hand shoved his face to the ground, where it first connected then dissolved into particles of darkness. Pain blossomed where he cut and brought her palm to touch the wound, only to find there was none…just a withering soreness.

Laughter cascaded from the hall.

_You are stronger than I thought, girl. I thought that tenacity was lost._

The air got less dense, the fear receding.

_But you are still weak, a petty human. And now I see where your nightmares lie…where they have always festered in wrath._

"Why am I here?" She yelled out to the shadows, finding her voice. He seemed to circle her, glowing eyes reappearing once more.

_You are here because the Warden finds some use for you. _He said, surprisingly without mockery.

"The Warden?"

_The Chain Warden, girl. He who steals lost voices. _

"Thresh," she identified out loud. Thresh. But that still didn't answer her question. It just made more.

"Okay then. Why does he want me here?"

_That's for him to answer._

"Ugh, okay…what is even going on?"

_Do you really think I can answer that either?_

She sighed. "I suppose not. But what does Jinx have to do with any of this? Did you tell her to bomb the hall?"

At this he scoffed. It was such a human reaction, she wondered how much of him was really just darkness.

_Girl, she is the Loose Cannon for a reason. She cannot be controlled…_Riven swore he broke a grin. _Yet her fears come rather close to doing just that._

That startled her. Jinx? Fears? Jinx has fears? "It seems I don't know her as well as she claims I do."

_He shook his head. You are naïve. As naïve as that Demacian you hold such high regards for. And why? So she can throw them back in your face? The moment you step into the public, champions Demacian or not will be hungering for your pretty head disconnected from your body._

"What's it to you?" She snapped, glaring into him.

_I told you. We need you. And whether you like it or not, you will help us._

"What makes you think I won't just kill you now…and take my leave?"

He surprised her once more, shooting her with a pitying glance. It knot her heart with rage. Pity was worse than anger, and worse than hate.

_I doubt you could in your state. This is my domain, girl. And say you could. Say you killed me now and left._

He disappeared, reappearing behind her.

_Then you would be defenseless… Then you would be casting away your precious morals… Then the whole of the league would be after you… I…we…have more allies than you perceive, girl._

Riven turned on her heel, facing him once again. "So you say." Then a dry laugh escaped her lips, so full of self spite and emptiness than it was foreign to even herself. "And here I am, believing ever word that comes out of a murderous shadow's mouth!"

_Hey, who says evil specters can't be honest?_

"All the other champions."

_Very funny. Now, come with me, girl. We have all gathered in this hall. A lot has happened since the bombing…so it is a good thing the other champions cannot find this place._

She expected to feel nervous, but found that the previous events had taken its toll. "We? There's more than just you, Tresh, and Jinx?"

_Of course… We all have something we want, girl, and we all have a common way to get it. The Wishing Well… the Summoner… this is not the League anymore. This is our dreams come true._

He faded deeper into the hall.

_Are you coming?_

Riven looked at Nocturne, his maelstrom of black gesturing like hands, and then back to the distant light of which she came.

"Alright."

* * *

**_Whew. Done. After...like, a while. So...questions, comments, concerns? Leave them in reviews! If there are any characters you would like to see more of, just let me know and I'll find a way to integrate them into the story. Who knows how the pairings will turn out...certainly not me! Thank you BY TONS for reading and reviewing! The next chapter will probably have lots of Vi and/or Lux!_**


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